


The (Not So) Fun Part

by Zaxal



Series: Kinktober 2018 [4]
Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Crying, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Demons, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: For Kinktober Day 4: Spanking / Mirror Sex / Crying





	The (Not So) Fun Part

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh so normally i don't add author notes like this but i feel the need to say that this was going to go in one direction with narcissistic mirror sex and went another, and it's a bad time all around, and i'm sorry.
> 
> non-canon (probably) snippet of an au where gob summons a demon who takes the form of the person who can most easily manipulate him, who happens to be michael. no one in the world can recognize michael as michael except for gob and nichael, the demon.

Awareness filtered in slowly, as if he was being roused from a deep sleep. Michael longed to turn over and ignore it, or simply bask in lethargy. His eyelids felt unbearably heavy, his limbs tingling and numb, useless. He was used to these sorts of intrusions into his sleep cycle from the years spent living in the model home where family gathered and talked and fought without caring about who they woke up.

But that had been years ago, now.

Michael blearily tried to open his eyes only to find the world twisting, spinning, disorienting. He had never personally experienced vertigo, but now he understood how quickly a person could go from standing on their own two feet to crawling across the floor. He needed the stability of the floor or a wall or- or something.

And when had he stood up?

His vision was dark, but blink by blink, it began to clear. He reeled and tried to sit or fall, but his limbs remained leaden, uncooperative.

“Hey,” a voice he recognized from home movies and interviews. “Hey, pal. You hanging in there?”

His voice always sounded wrong when he heard it played back to him.

He opened his mouth to try and speak, but his mouth felt full of cotton, and the words that filtered in were broken, meaningless.

“Stupid, stupid Michael,” the wrong-sounding Michael said. “Come on, you gotta wake up.”

“Where,” he managed as his vision finally cleared enough for him to see the Michael in front of him. He looked wrong the way every picture looked wrong after a lifetime of mostly seeing himself in mirrors.

“Hey, that’s something.” The other Michael smirked. When Michael saw himself in his dreams, he never looked wrong. And he never felt like he was going to throw up. “I wouldn’t try that,” the other him said as Michael tried to drop his head to vomit. Hands braced on his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “You all right?”

“Nuhhh.” He felt drool slip from his loose lips. He licked them, trying to pull it back in though he could feel the saliva drip onto his bare chest.

Bare-?

He blinked a few more rapid times, suddenly really taking note of the man in front of him. He was dressed down but not for bed, still wearing a pair of khakis with his t-shirt that fit his body a little too tightly. His bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners, smile pleasant but definitely false. He wiped the spit off Michael’s chest then, without waiting, pressed the same digit to Michael’s slack mouth, dragging his thumb harshly over his lower lip and exposing his gums.

“Y’know, Gob told me about the Forget-Me-Nows. Said _he_ couldn’t get any more after his last roofie circle, but hey, what are brothers for?”

Gob. Memories filtered in, dully throbbing in time with his heartbeat and his sudden headache. Gob standing beside a Michael when Michael had just walked through the door to the penthouse. The family not recognizing him, not even his _son_ , who had actually looked to the false Michael for help when Michael had tried to prove that he knew things only a father would. Gob sputtering nervously about a demon.

“Nichael?”

Nichael laughed, twisting Michael’s bottom lip until the pain filtered through and he jerked his head weakly away. “Is that what you’re calling me? Your _actual_ name?”

“S’a typo.”

“A typo you never got fixed, Mikey. Do you ever think about how you’ve been committing tax fraud your whole life?”

Michael hadn’t. He was now, suddenly, worried.

“Must run in the family.”

“Gob,” Michael started, crying out weakly. Gob might be an idiot, a coward, and a total ass, but Gob wouldn’t just leave him with-

“He’s not here right now. Don’t worry. I know you wouldn’t want him to see you like this.”

The look of unspoken confusion made Nichael chuckle. He stepped to the side, revealing an image of Michael he was more familiar with. At least, when it came to the face. His body was definitely his, but the iron and leather weren’t. A black harness crossed around his chest, some kind of rope leading out of the frame for the mirror. Matching it was a hefty black collar so tall that it forced his head up like a brace. His hands were bound by heavy manacles and connected by a metal bar that ran between them in front of him. Similar manacles weighed down his ankles, spreading his legs wider, and the bar connecting them was connected to a ring jutting out of the floor.

It was impossible to comprehend. All of it, the entire fucking getup, including the fact that he was naked.

Nichael appeared in the mirror, grabbing the rope connecting him to the ceiling and pushed it until Michael swayed with a clink of his ankles. He chuckled and released it, and Michael watched as he tried to steady himself on his feet.

“Not gonna lie, your brother wears this look a _lot_ better than you do.”

Anger, rage coiled in his gut, the nausea rearing its head again. His face reddened slightly, and Nichael’s smirk quirked wider.

“Oh, he hasn’t told you about all the little games we play?” Nichael rubbed his back almost soothingly. Fondly, condescendingly, he said, “You’re such an idiot. You think he summoned me so he could have a _brother_ again?” Michael closed his eyes, willing himself to wake up, only for fingers to gnarl in his hair and yank him back further, straining the wrong way against the brace and making his body arch forward to accommodate. His eyes flew open again. “Don’t want you passing out on me. Not until we get to the fun part. Okay, champ?”

Michael’s breathing heaved as he tried to form words. “Fun part?” he repeated with a sneer.

“Yeah.” Nichael released his hair, soothing his abused scalp with his hand, _petting_ him. “See, I want you to stay out of my way. Not that you can stop me from doing what I want, but, y’know. I like to cover all my bases. So I’m gonna give you a taste. Just the tiniest little peek of what’s gonna happen if you don’t stop showing up places claiming to be Michael Bluth.”

“Let me go,” Michael breathed.

“No can do, Mikey. I need this lesson to stick.” Without warning, he brought a hand down and slapped Michael hard across the ass. Michael flinched and tried to turn away, his movement hampered severely by the drugs still in his system and the spreader between his legs. Nichael softly laughed, slapping the other cheek harder. “You really hate that, huh? Being treated like the little brat you are.”

Nichael pulled away and stepped out of the sight of the mirror. Michael moved his eyes, trying to get a better view of the room. From what he could tell, he was set up in the middle between the walls, a stand-alone full-length mirror in front of him. Nichael hummed to himself out of Michael’s sight, even when he leaned and used the mirror to try and get a better assessment of where he was.

Nichael returned with a connector like the one weighing his feet down. He grabbed the bar between Michael’s arms and pulled it up over his head before clipping them to the rope holding him up. Forced to arch forward, Michael tried to jerk away, only for Nichael to grab the brace by the back, pushing him down further until Michael was struggling to breathe.

When he stopped trying to move, Nichael let go of him. Michael stared at the floor, grateful to be looking away from the mirror. The rope tying the harness loosened, allowing him some more space to breathe though he now swung.

Without warning, there was faint woosh through the air, and Michael lost what little air he had as a line of fire suddenly blazed across his exposed ass. “You’ll need to breathe,” Nichael said, sounding almost gentle, but Michael had no sooner inhaled when a second blow struck. He cried out weakly then started panting to get his air back.

“I know you can do better than that, ‘Michael’,” Nichael said, sounding disappointed. “Don’t worry, no one can hear us.”

“What the fu-” The third hit came down and Michael’s words cut themselves off as he choked on a cough.

“It’s better if you don’t talk,” Nichael said almost pleasantly. “Just focus on breathing.”

The fourth rush and crack against his skin made Michael teeter forward, leaning away as he desperately gulped in air.

“How hard can it be? You breathe every minute of every day without thinking about it. You do it in your fucking sleep.”

The fifth was harder than the others, and Michael screamed, his vision going dark around the edges again.

“Funny what a little piece of leather can do to a stupid. piece. of. shit. like. you.” The next six came in quick succession, and Michael’s knees buckled from the pain. The harness didn’t allow him to fall. “Do you want to see it?” Nichael rounded him, showing off the small braided whip. “This is all it takes, and your idiot monkey brain stops working.”

“Stop,” Michael gasped. “Stop, stop-”

“No.” Nichael ruffled his hair. “Every time you ask, it’s gonna get worse, okay? So that’s three levels more.”

“You _can’t_ ,” Michael insisted, feeling somehow certain that this wasn’t something that could happen to someone like him.

“Oh, I can, Mikey. Who’s gonna stop me? So far as the people I’m renting this place from know, you have a safeword. We’ve negotiated all of this beforehand. I’ve got a contract signed in your name, and a name I made up for you.”

Panic hit Michael like a train as Nichael moved behind him again.

Michael wished he could say that he became numb to the pain, or that he became used to it. But every hit felt somehow like the first one he’d ever felt and also the worst. His voice was raw from screaming, and sweat covered his body, at first so unbearably hot and then chilling him to the bone. Nichael layered the hits until it felt like everywhere from his tailbone to the bottom part of his thighs were covered in what would become bruises, welts.

He sobbed weakly when he heard Nichael toss the whip away, only to cry harder when hands, hot and terrible raked over his abused skin, rubbing the pain deeper. Nichael grabbed the back of the brace and hauled him up, forcing him to face the mirror. His own face was red and wet with tears, swollen and snotty and hideous. Nichael held up a hand and wiggled his fingers until Michael finally noticed it and the fact that it was covered in blood.

“Some of those might even scar,” Nichael said with a small amount of pride as he let go of Michael who swung pitifully forward.

When Nichael returned, he had another connector in his hands, and he attached the back of the collar to something behind Michael — the harness, the rope, Michael didn’t know, Michael didn’t _care_ — forcing his head up to look at the mirror again.

Now that he knew he was bleeding, Michael could see the drops of blood at his feet, rivulets slowly trickling down the skin of his legs. His breathing hitched, caught in sobs as Nichael nestled his head against Michael’s own, so calm and still politely smiling as Michael trembled from the pain, the fear, suddenly too-aware of everything Nichael could do to him.

“A lot less talkative now, aren’t you?” Nichael petted his hair again, leaving it stuck up in every random direction. “Now, are you gonna stay out of my way?”

“Y- y- yeah,” his voice shook, raw in his throat. “Yes.”

“So who am I?”

“Nichael-” Nichael’s nails dug into Michael's scalp, and Michael felt suddenly sure that they could pierce through to his brain. “Michael! Y- you’re M- Michael Bluth.”

Nichael eased his grip, smiling wider. Michael watched in horror as he leaned closer, mouth against his ear as he whispered words of flame. “And you’re _nobody_.” His hand cupped Michael’s cheek, smearing blood along his face. “If I wanted to, I could kill you. I’m the son of the Bluths, and you’re nobody. Perfect little Michael; no one would even _think_ it was me.”

“Instead, I’m just gonna fuck you.” He grinned wickedly against Michael’s skin, teeth grazing his ear. “Isn’t that nice of me?” Michael couldn’t find the voice to answer, and Nichael didn’t seem to actually want one. “I’ll even let you come,” he said like it was the greatest act of generosity anyone had ever offered another human being. “But you’re going to keep your eyes on that mirror. If you close them for longer than a couple seconds, I’ll end your little nobody life. Got it?”

This time he did pause, looking at Michael through the mirror, his eyes as cold as ice and staring straight into Michael’s soul. “Yes,” Michael said, hating the word even as he forced it past his lips.

“Yes?” Nichael raised his eyebrows expectantly.

With a thick swallow, he forced his torn throat to speak. “Yes, Michael.”


End file.
